


saturn devouring his son, de goya (1819 – 1823)

by chrysostomos (nantes)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Modern Setting, Alternate Universe – No Powers, Choking, Face Slapping, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Possessive Sex, Power Play, Sibling Incest, Significant Kneeling, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nantes/pseuds/chrysostomos
Summary: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, the black sheep of the family comes home.The aftermath of a family gathering.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/Diego Hargreeves
Comments: 16
Kudos: 166





	saturn devouring his son, de goya (1819 – 1823)

**Author's Note:**

> it’s 2020, reggie isn’t dead, none of them have superpowers, the hargreeves siblings are all the same age, five did the opposite of running away, and diego’s got more issues than _vogue._ i added ‘implied/referenced drug addiction’ to the tags specifically to warn for a flashback where klaus collapses while high and diego forces him to vomit – it’s brief and not highly detailed but avoid from “ **Diego remembers it like yesterday** ” until “ **Five hadn’t said another word after that** ” should you prefer not to read it.

> “ _Must you keep my baby teeth / in the bedside table with my jewellery? / You still sleep in the bed with me / my jewellery, and my baby teeth. / I don't need another friend / when most of them / I can barely keep up with them. / I’m perfectly able to hold my own hand / but I still can't kiss my own neck._ ”   
>  **CIVILIAN, WYE OAK.**
> 
>   
> 
> 
> “ _It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. To want something so much – to hold it in your arms – and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it._ ”   
>  **THE WRATH AND THE DAWN, AHDIEH.**

  
  
  
  
_i._

“You sure you’re ok to do this?”

It’s the fourth time Ben’s asked the same question. But now he’s in the back, so his hand sits on Diego’s shoulder as they wait for Klaus. Diego shakes his head, bristling at the unwanted concern from his brother. “Who would be your ride if I didn’t come?”

The butt of Ben’s palm meets the back of Diego’s neck. “ _Hey._ ”

“Don’t be a dick, I’m try’na make sure you’re alright.”

“And I said already, _I’m fine._ It’s Luther’s wedding, I was invited.” He bites the final T out of his mouth and Ben, clearly struck by it, sits back properly in his seat. Hands raised. Diego’s unsure how to read the gesture – surrendering or protective. He didn’t mean to yell but it got him the outcome he wanted, so he doesn’t apologise. (Ben deserves better but Diego hasn’t got it in him to be that. Not right now.)

Klaus throws the car door open. “Benny, did you sit in the back just for me?” he chimes, beaming. “Baby boy,” and he leans over the back of the seat to awkwardly hug Ben around the headrest. Ben pats his arm with a gentle ‘shut up’.

When he reaches for Diego, Diego shuts Klaus down with a swift, “Get off me, man.” Klaus’ fingers have yet to make contact. Thankfully he does as he’s told and sits down in the front seat without argument.

“You love me,” he insists, moving to tamper with the radio.

Diego swats his hand away. He does love his brother, he saw him last week for a cup of coffee, a short walk during Diego’s break to get Klaus out of the centre for a little while. But that doesn’t mean he can fuck with Diego’s radio settings.

+

The house is as Diego remembers it. Cold, full of people who can’t identify one of Reginald Hargreeves’ adopted children from the other – bar Five and Luther, but they always were Dad’s favourites to show off – and pristinely clean. (Like a fucking museum.)

Ben hustles off into the crowd, disappearing while Diego is declining a glass of champagne from a waiter wearing the same tie as he is. Klaus follows suit even as Diego catches his blue eyes tracking the direction of the tray of drinks moving away from them.

He should say something but causing a scene at Luther’s wedding would-

_Fuck._

Luther is getting married.

Luther is getting married. (But not to Allison. That surprised Diego more than the invitation actually finding its way to him – he hasn’t enquired yet which one of his siblings blabbed his address to Dad’s secretary but his money’s on Vanya; the thought well-meant on her side but Diego’s consent absent from the whole thing – since Luther always did have an uncanny ability to get whatever the fuck he wanted out of Dad.) And Diego is at the wedding.

Clearly seeing his chance while Diego’s mind was elsewhere, Klaus is no longer beside Diego when he blinks himself back into the present.

“Diego?”

Diego turns to find Allison. In white. Rude, but obviously on purpose. “I’m surprised you’re here,” she says.

“Could say the same about you,” he replies, accepting the hug she offers. Her husband, Ray, is out of ear shot. ( _Second_ husband – of course Allison got to two weddings before the rest of them collectively got to one, but she always was an overachiever. Diego was at neither.) Still, she stiffens against Diego’s chest.

Pulling back, she wears a smile. “Dad sent a car for me, arrived at 8am this morning. Had to help Mom pick shoes for tonight as soon as I arrived.”

“Subtle.”

“Dad’s speciality.”

+

“Five,” Klaus exclaims, all delighted eyes and wide grin. Diego hadn’t notice him come back to his side – since his conversation with Allison dried up, he’s been asked by three women for another glass of champagne, briefly brushed passed Ben twice, waved half-heartedly at Luther from across the room, eaten six mini burger style canapes (which is approximately 3/4s of an actual burger), tried multiple times to get a glass of water off of any of the numerous waiters, and avoided Dad and Luther.

Now Five’s here and Klaus has him wrapped in three of his four main limbs.

“Nice outfit,” Five sneers at Diego over Klaus’ shoulder.

Klaus agrees, “Our big boy scrubs up nicely.” Diego refuses to be dragged into it. With either of them. Patting Klaus’ arm, he extracts Five from their brother’s grip. Now free, Klaus lines up his champagne flute with Five’s glass and toasts his lightly off it.

Five eyes it, in that way Diego knows he’s going to – rudely – comment on it. But Diego is too slow to stop it happening.

“Should you be drinking that?” Five asks. Diego sighs.

Klaus fumbles over how to respond, starting two sentences before finally coming out with, “It’s just a small one, for courage. And Diego kept saying no to the waiters, I felt rude.” Five turns to Diego for confirmation so Diego supplies a shrug, non-committal.

“Whatever,” Five answers. “Just don’t let Dad see you with it. Or Grace. You know she’ll be hurt.”

Somehow Klaus manages to look sad, injured and sorry all at once. Diego moves towards him, angles his arm to reach him, but Five is between them now. Klaus nods. Placing it down on the side table next to them, Klaus steps away from the champagne flute and around the two of them. “Don’t worry,” he says to Five. His tone is clipped. Diego feels his chest tighten. “I won’t cause a scene.”

He leaves them both without another word. A few people away, Allison attempts to stop him but Klaus brushes off her concern.

“I heard you and Ben picked him up from the airport.”

Diego remains still, following Klaus moving through the crowd towards the French doors to the patio. And ignoring Five’s prodding. He’ll let him get a little more vicious before he reacts. (It’s what he wants, he tells himself, don’t be stupid.) He nods and smiles politely at some passing aunt but doesn’t wish to draw her into their conversation.

“Back from Morocco. At least, that’s what Dad’s calling it this time,” Five continues, punctuating his statement with a sip from his drink. “Always such _exotic_ locations-”

Diego grabs his arm, spinning himself into Five’s space. Stretching out his opening vowel, emphasising his point as strongly as he can, Diego says, “And that’s enough.” He jerks his head towards Five’s whiskey glass. “Maybe worry about your own issues before attacking our brother about his. At least he is trying to do something about his.”

Five laughs. It’s not the reaction Diego was expecting. (If he wasn’t actively avoiding Dad he would consider punching the smile off his brother’s face, maybe crack a couple of those pretty white teeth of his, results from the same orthodontics as the rest of them. But Dad wouldn’t be happy about ‘the scene’ caused. And it would only be Diego in trouble for it anyway.) He lets go of Five’s arm, practically throwing it – and Five – away.

“He doesn’t need you to fight his battles for him,” Five says, “he’s a grown man.”

“Yeah?” he doesn’t give Five the satisfaction of looking at him; Diego knows any more reaction is only giving Five exactly what he wants. “And so are you. But you’ve always been one of Dad’s favourites so you never needed me to.”

He hears rather than sees Five’s mouth open. But nothing comes out.

Diego sniffs in a breath and steps away, fixing his jacket. “If you’re done, I’m gonna go find our brother.” He leaves before Five has time to respond, shouldering his way passed a second cousin with a soft ‘sorry’.

Outside, he finds Klaus lighting up a cigarette. He’s kind enough to offer Diego one even though they both know Diego is going to decline. He does, so Klaus pockets the packet.

“He’s a piece of shit, you know that.”

It’s a statement, but Klaus still answers it like a question. “Five? Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t let him get to you,” Diego prompts. His elbow jostles Klaus’ smoking arm, making Klaus pass him a smile. “Seriously.”

“You too.”

+

At the table, Diego is sat next to Ben. Rather than address any of his siblings – or Grace, or Dad, or _anyone else_ \-- Diego keeps his eyes on his table setting. A bowl of cold, green soup gets placed in front of him and still, he doesn’t look up.

As with every dinner they had as children, they begin to eat in silence. No prayers over the food, no announcement to ‘tuck in everyone’ from Dad at the head of the table. Silence. But times have clearly changed, when Luther pipes up to ask, from his seat at Dad’s right hand, “So, Five, Delores couldn’t make it?”

Diego keeps eating. He has no interest in this conversation.

“Unfortunately,” Five replies, “she couldn’t get the time off work.”

Luther makes a noise back. Since everyone else seems to know who Delores is, Diego doesn’t comment. It’s still not his conversation to join in with, except-

“What about you, Diego? Your invitation was a plus one.”

A few seats up Allison’s spoon clatters loudly off her bowl. She coughs. Ray’s hand is on her back in an instant, rubbing soothing circles where her dress reveals the elegant line of her back. Diego can feel everyone’s eyes on him but he doesn’t lift his head.

“I noticed, but I didn’t feel like bringing anyone along.”

“So, there is someone to bring?” That’s Five. Diego shifts his look to Ben, the opposite direction to the voice. Ben smiles, aiming for comforting but missing by a mile. He lands somewhere closer to sympathy. They aren’t ten anymore so Diego can’t swipe him in the shin under the table.

Klaus answers for him. “Eudora.”

“Eudora,” Five repeats. Dad makes a half-coughing sound in warning, clearly unimpressed with the chatter. “You didn’t want to introduce her to the family?” Five asks, blatantly disregarding Dad’s displeasure. (In a way only _Five_ could ever get away with.)

Diego’s answer is quick, short and to the point: “Something like that.” He returns to silence and no one else attempts to draw him back in.

As the dishes are collected for the next course, a waiter’s white gloved hand comes over Diego’s shoulder. “For you, sir,” he intones, and places a small white envelope onto Diego’s side plate.

_ii._

When he was a child, Diego loathed being summoned to Dad’s office; now, thirteen years since the last time he knocked on the door and entered the room, he still feels oddly queasy, on edge in rooms with too much dark stained wooden panelling.

Reginald bids him in with a sharp, “Enter,” before Diego gets to knock. There’s something similar to a smile on Reginald’s face when he locks eyes on his son. It twists in Diego’s gut. “Diego, it’s-”

He halts Reginald’s sentence before it gets too far. “Don’t say it’s good to see me, spare us both the lie.”

“Can’t a man say that to his long absent son?”

“Another guy, sure,” Diego states. He points directly at Reginald behind the desk. “But you, to me? That doesn’t float.” Reginald deigns not to respond. “Why’d you call me in here, Dad?”

He sighs. Reginald has gotten old, no, _older_ over the last thirteen years. His features look more weathered, permanently tired around the eyes. Good, Diego thinks to himself. Dad’s just an old man now while Diego spent most of their time apart growing into an adult. He could take him now. Reginald sighs and says, “It’s been a few years. I wanted to see how you were.”

“And you couldn’t come talk to me downstairs?”

“Would you have accepted it if I had?”

Diego rolls his eyes, clucking his tongue off his teeth. A childish move but that’s all Dad – he has a way of reducing Diego to a child by purely being in his presence once more. Trust him to throw all of this back at Diego, make it his fault.

“I don’t know,” he answers, “since you didn’t try.” Then, “And I’m fine, for the record. Got a job, a place to live, not dead. All good.”

“And a girl,” Reginald adds. “Eudora, Klaus said.” Diego doesn’t like how her name sounds in Dad’s mouth.

He agrees even if it does feel like he’s letting Dad win. (Dad’s wrong but Dad doesn’t need to know that.) Let him have it, he decides, he’ll be long gone once more after tomorrow night anyway.

_iii._

“You’re leaving so soon?”

Diego hates how gentle her voice is, the note of upset in it. It’s been thirteen years since he’s seen Grace too and, like Dad, she still hits him right in the centre, to the core. Same as always. “You know, your room is still upstairs. I had it made up this morning, so the sheets are fresh.”

Grace says, “Stay. Please? Just for tonight.”

And Diego’s reserve crumples. He nods. A smile quirks the corner of his mouth as she smiles at him. Fuck. “Alright, Mom, just for tonight.”

“Good.” Her fingers meet his arm, warm through his jacket sleeve. “We can have breakfast together, just you and me. Before all the chaos starts.”

“Sounds great.”

+

Everything looks the same as the day Diego left, all in its right place. Dusted, sure, Grace always was meticulous about that, but otherwise undisturbed. A time warp Diego had hoped to avoid stepping into but here he is, unprepared as he looks around. He touches the patchwork quilt folded at the foot of his bed to ground himself, the balled-and-worn material familiar after all this time.

Grace made them all one when they were six. Diego’s pretty certain he’s the only bed that still has it on it.

Despite the noise of the party continuing downstairs, Diego heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed. The noise won’t bother him; his current place not only has a window level with a rather busy street, but a boiler that whistles and clanks whenever it feels like making itself heard.

Tie wrapped around his hand, he pushes the bathroom door open.

The pink tiles look the same too. As do the doors into Klaus’ and Five’s bedrooms facing him. At the sink, he toes a stain on the floor. It’s darkened with time but it is no less present than the day it got itself there. “Good to see you too,” he mutters to himself.

A bloodstain. Klaus’. From-

Diego remembers it like yesterday. Five’s voice screaming for him, making him jolt outta bed, knocking his knee off the bedside locker’s edge on his way to the door. Klaus unconscious, blood on the tiles, the lip of the sink where his head made contact. His pale skin, Five’s wide eyes. “Give him here,” he’d said, hauling Klaus away from Five roughly and dragging him to the edge of the tub. “Turn on the shower.”

“Diego?”

“Do you want Dad to hear? Turn on the shower.”

As Five had turned taps – “Keep it cold.” – Diego forced his fingers into Klaus’ throat. “How do you-”

“Who do you think looks after him usually?”

Five hadn’t said another word after that. Now, in the present, Diego blinks in the mirror, looking at the tub reflected behind his shoulder. He feels- grimy, covered in a layer of _something_ from being back in this house again, surrounded by siblings and extended family members he hasn’t seen for over a decade. But. Nah, he’ll shower in the morning. Before breakfast with Grace.

It’s fine.

+

He’s mostly asleep by the time the party draws to a close. He hears Klaus in the bathroom briefly, his familiar clattering and chattering to himself oddly comforting as Diego turns in the bed, pulling the covers to his nose. He notices himself falling asleep and loses track of time.

Ten minutes or fifteen seconds could have passed between then and now when he hears his door open.

His voice is low, a grumble, as he asks, “Klaus?” out into the air.

The ‘shhhh’ he receives back is wrong for Klaus. Too low. _Five._ He gets closer and the bed dips where he leans his weight into it. The covers are pulled back, making Diego groan in annoyance, but they’re pulled too tightly around his waist for him to turn over, away. “Don’t,” Five starts in a whisper. Diego moves his arm closer to himself. He knows what’s coming.

Five’s breath is warm when he speaks. It ghosts over Diego’s cheek, his ear, the lingering sweet of his brandy nightcap not long ago still noticeable upon it. “Let me stay. Don’t send me back to my room.”

Diego chooses not to answer mostly out of tiredness. It won’t take him long to fall asleep once more after this. He groans again, hoping Five will get a move on and stop letting all the cold air under the covers. Diego feels him lie down beside him.

With the covers loose around his waist now, Diego rolls over, offering Five his back.

Five is a long line of warm against him. Except for the icy tip of his nose where he presses it between Diego’s shoulder blades. Diego’s unsure if he dreams it or if Five actually speaks, but he hears a small ‘thanks’ just before he returns to sleep.

+

“Who’s Delores?”

The room is pitch dark. Five’s hair tickles the underside of Diego’s nose. Who moved to who, Diego can’t tell but they’re here. Five might be asleep. Diego closes his eyes but-

“My psychiatrist.”

+

Five’s gone when Diego wakes. (He was expecting that.)

Breakfast with Grace is lovely. She makes eggs while Diego irons his shirt for the ceremony – he doesn’t have any role to play, significant or otherwise, but it’s a new purchase and he wants it to look its best. She carefully, almost cautiously avoids asking about Eudora, but excluding that, their talk is nice. Easy. There may be a loss of thirteen years’ time – but no blood – between them but still, Grace is Diego’s mom.

As the others start to rise and join them in the kitchen, Diego’s shirt now on and buttoned up to his chest, the topic changes to the weather. Apparently there’s a storm front coming in and the rain is due to start at 10am; all anyone talks about until Dad joins them, fully dressed and demanding his boot polish, is the weather.

“Rain on a wedding day,” Ray says, “that could be an ill omen.”

Diego looks up from his juice to catch the horrified look on Luther’s face.

“Or an Alanis Morisette lyric,” Ben chimes in. Laughter peals around the room. Ben winks at Diego.

Dad comes back into the room, blustering about, “It’s not on my desk.” Digging the spare boot brush out of a drawer, Grace hands it to him. In lieu of thanks, he tells her, “When the catering staff get here, tell them to move any floral displays with orchids inside the tent. They’re the most likely to get damaged when the wind picks up.”

When Klaus excuses himself out of the backdoor for a smoke, Diego follows him for a change of scenery. Again, he offers Diego the packet.

Diego answers, “You know I don’t smoke.”

“I know, I know,” Klaus sighs, almost too dramatically. “But you have to have some sorta vice.”

Diego clucks out a short laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Klaus smiles. Smoke billows from his nostrils. “I bet Eudora could tell me.” Diego doesn’t rise to the bait. “Or Five?” That, _that_ gets Diego to glare at him. “What? I heard him coming out of your room this morning. Just like old times.” Diego moves to speak but Klaus cuts him off. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention it to _dear old Dad._ But-”

“No.”

Klaus, atypically, drops it. He moves the conversation back to the weather with, “How big of a tantrum do you think our big brother is going to throw when it starts raining.”

“Oh, probably one as big as he is.” With a chuckle, Klaus claps his hand on Diego’s shoulder. And Diego lets himself smile.

+

The rain is _such_ a big deal it even features in Dad’s speech during the toasts. Diego doesn’t but the rain does. (He never expected to.) It pelts off the canvas side of the tent, the edges of the fake floor dampening as the ground outside becomes more and more waterlogged.

Diego isn’t staying for the meal. He told himself that before he sent the RSVP back – show my face at the pre-wedding drinks, turn up for the ceremony, then bounce. But people keep catching him before he can make his escape.

Vanya, absent from last night’s events, stops him to introduce him to Sissy.

Ben pulls him aside to introduce Jill to him. Diego knew of her long before now but this is the first time meeting her face to face. (And if it’s important to Ben, Diego can give them both five minutes. He did snap at him in the car yesterday.)

Grace asks him to help her find where she put the extra disposable cameras as table eleven never got one and some cousins and an uncle – family friend kinda uncle, not blood or marriage kind – are complaining that everyone else got one and they didn’t.

Even Klaus manages to nab him before he can get to the exit so Diego takes the opportunity to ask, “You and Ben got rides home after this?”

“You’re leaving?”

Klaus has a wine glass in his hand with something distinctly not wine coloured in it. Diego doesn’t pass comment. (It’s Klaus’ life and his protective streak only goes as far as defending him against others. Klaus needs to fight himself.) Instead, he says, “You knew I was leaving before dinner.”

“Yeah, but it’s duck.”

“Not a fan.”

“Suit yourself,” Klaus says. “And yeah. Jill’s not drinking so she said she’ll give us a ride home later.”

Diego nods. “Cool. I’ll call you next week, yeah? We’ll-”

“Get coffee, sure,” Klaus agrees. Bundling Diego into a hug, he says, “Look after yourself.”

_iv._

The knock at the door comes just as he’s cracking his back. Diego moves slowly towards it, rolling his shoulder in the socket, then goes slower still when he hears Five’s voice on the other side. “Al said you’re home, Diego,” he snaps.

Diego opens the door with his shirt off. Five’s eyes drop to his chest, flicking across his tattoos then back up again. “Vanya had your address,” Five tells him, clearly caught off guard. Good, Diego thinks, stepping back to let him in – this is Diego’s home, he likes the idea of Five off kilter in this space. “Neither Ben nor Klaus would cough it up.”

“Klaus doesn’t know it,” Diego supplies. He leans back, butt to the lip of the countertop. 

“Surprising.”

Diego returns, “Is it?”

Five shrugs. From the angle of his shoulders it’s clear to see he doesn’t know what to do with his body; that’s not Diego’s problem. He asks, “What brings you over? It’s only been, what, four days – we were averaging thirteen years between visits til now.”

Five’s mouth turns unhappily. That- that jars Diego. He wasn’t expecting that. “Can’t I want to see you?” He sounds like Dad and it sticks in Diego’s craw. He always knew Five was the most like the old man but hearing it so obviously is too much. He has to look away. He hears Five move towards him. (And does he hate that Five’s taller than him now? Oh, so very fucking much.) “Hey,” Five tries. It makes Diego’s head snap back to him, the sound too soft for Diego to handle.

“Don’t.”

Credit where credit is due, Five backs off.

He doesn’t leave but Diego will take what he can get. Five’s second attempt begins with, “Luther and I were talking.”

Diego’s quick, filling in the gap as Five takes a breath. “You and _Luther,_ huh? So that’s why you’re here and he’s not.”

Five glares, the look steely and cold. His eyes aren’t the same colour as Dad’s – none of them are, though Klaus and Luther could pretend if they ever wanted to – but the look is the same. Diego refuses to kowtow to it. “It was good to see you at the wedding, that’s all. So I thought I’d stop by.” He gestures at the room. “Nice place you’ve got here?”

“Yeah, you think so?” Diego answers. Despite Five’s open mouth he doesn’t respond. “Finally thinking about leaving the mansion and finding a place like it of your own? I’m sure a little rich boy like you could find a much nicer one than here.”

Pink flush spreads across the band of Five’s nose, under his eyes. It makes his eyes look more green.

Diego keeps going, meanly, “Cos leaving worked out so well for you last time. How long were you gone when the gardener brought you home again – two days, three, tops?”

“I was thirteen.”

The laugh that gets from Diego is harsh, pushed from the back of his throat and out through his teeth. “There’s definitely some thirteen year olds out there who did better.”

+

Diego doesn’t invite Five to stay for dinner. No. It’s just that Five doesn’t leave and Diego has enough for two. He doesn’t have two chairs at his table. He watches Five look around – he eyes the bed for a moment but moves his gaze on quickly. Diego’s not going to offer him the chair; it’s his home and his chair. And there’ll be no stand off about it if Diego sits down.

So he does.

Five lasts another couple seconds standing then drops to his knees next to Diego’s chair. If he’s looking for a reaction, Diego isn’t going to give him one. Only, “Sure you’ll be balanced?” as he hands him the plate. Five holds his eye contact, unblinking. Diego catches the twitch of his jaw. Right before he answers;

“I’ll be fine.” But it’s on the verge of too loud to be casual.

Like every dinner they shared together as kids, they eat in silence.

+

It’s barely a stretch to reach the sink from his seat so Diego leans over once he takes Five’s plate from him. Five’s ‘thanks’ is muttered, practically non-existent, but with only the two of them here Diego hears it. It makes him smile. (Should it? He’s not sure.)

He’s leaning over to the fridge, a bit further of a stretch but manageable, when Five moves. It’s his hair, a soft strand of it brushing his thigh through the thin material of his sweatpants, he feels first. Then his cheek, five o’clock shadowing glossing Five’s cheek. He doesn’t look at him. Not yet, he can’t. But his fingers touch Five’s hair without his permission.

Five leans into it, shoulders dropping like- like his strings have been cut. Diego lets himself touch more, combing his fingers through the soft, clean strands of Five’s hair. His nails catch Five’s scalp, making Five’s next breath warm over the material of his sweatpants. Heating up the skin underneath.

Diego looks down. There, in front of him, is Five. Kneeling. Cheek pillowed on his thigh. Mouth open and a lightest of blushes pinking up the line of his cheek. His eye holds Diego’s stare, unblinking, and Diego asks, “Yeah?” around the heaviness of his tongue in his mouth.

Fuck.

He _wants._

“Can I?” Five asks. His lips skim over Diego briefly.

A nod jerks Diego’s neck. He has to move, turn if he’s . . . if Five’s going to. Fuck. Diego’s hand creeps to the back of Five’s neck, touching where his hair has begun to curl at this length. Five shifts, Diego hears the creak of a joint as Five moves away, Diego’s hand not letting him get far. There’s no room for him under the table. Diego spins in his seat instead, carefully moving himself around the width of Five on the floor. Five. Kneeling on the floor. Diego’s head keeps turning the thought over and over, his focus hyper-fixed upon the one spot.

(There won’t be a mark left once Five is standing again. But Diego will remember.)

Now, between Diego’s knees, Five can’t rest his head anymore. He leans back into Diego’s hand on his nape, needy and wanting. Diego rests his palm to Five’s skin, heated. There’s a nervousness to him, low-level but obvious, as if the realisation of what he said has hit him. Diego allows him to take a breath. He won’t push if Five wants to back-

Five’s fingers touch the waistband of his pants, steady with intent. But when Diego thumbs along his hairline, his eyelids flutter. (He wants as much as Diego does.)

He’s not fully hard. Not at first, although it won’t take him much to get there as Five rolls his sweatpants down to his ankles. (He would kick them off but that feels too far right now. Not with Five sitting between his legs in a fully button suit and neatly ironed slacks after a day in the office. Too much of a contrast between them.) Five avoids touching his dick, lips slipping wet over the corded muscle of Diego’s thigh instead.

Then he bites.

It makes Diego hiss like a cat, sharp and high. He pulls Five’s hair in retaliation, hard enough to hurt. Five comes away from his skin laughing like the little fucking brat he is.

“Be nice,” Diego retorts as he shifts his thigh out of range of Five’s teeth.

Five laughs again, even as Diego forces his head backwards, the angle making Five’s adam’s apple push out further in his slender throat. “Make me,” he returns. Diego glares. His free fingers bunch and relax again from a fist. Five repeats, “Make me,” practically underlining it this time round.

Diego meets his eye. He wants the smile off his face, wants the pink of his blush to darken more and spread, maybe his eyes wet too. So Diego does something about it. The sound of the slap to Five’s face rings out in the space around them. Five’s head whips to the side, but when he returns the smile is still there. Diego smiles back.

“Yeah,” Five agrees, to nothing in particular.

With one hand, Diego tightens his grip in Five’s hair; with the other, he holds Five by the jaw and pulls him in. A groan slips from his mouth. Five’s mouth is already open.

+

Diego doesn’t let Five make him come. No. That’s too easy. (Would feel like Five won, even though Diego can’t pinpoint exactly why.) He yanks Five’s head back and Five comes away, chin spit slick and sticky, mouth red-swollen, and lashes wet. Diego asks, “Can I fuck you?” as Five’s panting at the ceiling, his whole chest bouncing arrhythmically with it.

Five’s answering ‘God _yes_ ’ sounds like it comes from the pit of him.

On the bed, Five naked underneath him, Diego asks the question ‘what’s your limit here?’ into the jut of Five’s shoulder blade. He drags his teeth along the ridge of it while Five thinks of an answer; Diego receives the stroppy sounding, “If I say ‘stop’ you’ll stop.”

“Obviously.”

“Then we’re good.”

Trust Five to be able to sound pissy and put out while sporting an erection, pushing his ass back into Diego’s lap. But Diego presses on:

“And non-verbal.”

Five shifts, redistributing his weight to lift an arm he’d previously been using to hold himself up. Diego watches as he clicks his fingers once. “I’m fine.” Then twice. “Stop, I’m not.” And finally, “Why? Planning on silencing me?” (He asks like this is Diego’s play, like Diego was the one who got on his knees on the floor of Diego’s place and asked to blow Five. Fuck him.)

“No.” Because Diego wants to hear everything.

+

Diego almost slows him down. Note: _almost._ Five’s needy with it, not giving Diego an inch despite their positions – Five on hands and knees controls their fucking and Diego feels his upper hand slipping away. He lets Five have it for a while, enjoying the view of Five fucking himself back on his dick, rolling his hips when the grind is just right.

It’s a great fucking view.

But when Five groans, forehead dropping to the mattress, Diego shifts, moving to hover over him. Changing the angle and making Five’s rhythm falter as he presses deeper. “Shit,” he trembles out.

“You’re eager,” Diego notes, just the wrong side of mean, but Five keeps fucking himself back. (Liking it.) “Been a while for you?”

Five nods his head. Diego drives his hips in, taking over. He presses his thumbs into Five’s sides, solid and hot under his palms.

Diego argues against Five’s response. “Liar.” Five jerks forward at the accusation, making Diego chase him the few centimetres to fuck him deep once more. “You’ve always known you were pretty, you could get anyone you wanted.”

Five’s head shakes this time. “Only you,” he murmurs into the sheets. It sounds like the truth, especially when he repeats it. Diego fucks him harder, picking up speed as payback and Five’s breath shakes out of him, airy and quivering.

“Yeah?”

Five nods. He turns his head, almost burying his face as he fucks himself back into Diego’s hips. Oh no. No. Diego wants to see him, wants to gaze at every rosy shade he’s wearing on his skin right now. With an arm snaked around Five’s waist, he hauls him up, sitting Five in his lap. Five keens at the angle change, head falling back onto Diego’s shoulder and opening up his throat to Diego’s mouth.

Diego bites what’s offered and, fuck, Five’s hole tightens. “Good?” Diego asks, teeth nipping as he smiles. He skims his fingers over Five’s dick just to watch him tremble. (The blush on Five’s chest matches the colour of his cock and, oh boy, Diego is filing that away for another day.)

Five swats at his thigh but his coordination is off at the moment. “Fuck off,” he gives instead, “you know-” It breaks into a whine as Diego fucks him, getting his knees situated under them both to do it right. He forces high pitched pants out of Five’s mouth with every push of his hips into him.

As he sucks a kiss into Five’s jaw, Five reaches up to brush him off, a half-formed ‘hey’ on his lips when Diego catches his hand, stopping him.

Their hands sit together on Five’s clavicle until- 

Five lets his drop, fingers touching Diego’s elbow on their way down. “Go on,” he urges, tipping Diego’s skin with intent. Diego bites his earlobe and Five outright yells. His sweat warm back sticks to Diego’s chest, though the drag of it is smooth. He focuses on that rather than the movement of his fingers, rising up towards Five’s throat. He feels Five’s jaw move with his lips to the skin, then feels the corresponding movement of Five’s swallow underneath his fingertips.

Below, somewhere near Diego’s thigh, Five clicks his fingers. Just once.

Diego digs his thumb in. (Before he can change his mind.) Five pants against his cheek and Diego releases as quickly as he began. He moves his hand for a better grip, every finger now covering the expanse of Five’s throat. Five’s eyes close as he begins to apply pressure – it’s the hottest thing Diego has ever seen. Five goes still, letting Diego fuck him through it, until Diego loosens his grip again and Five whines.

“Keep-” he says but yeah. Yeah. Diego’s got it. He cuts off Five’s sentence with a a firm squeeze and counts down from eight.

_v._

When Diego left home he expected out of all them Five would try and find him.

He stopped counting the days six weeks in when Five never showed up. It took him another six months to stop hoping he still would. After that, he just had to start living with the consequences of his choice and got on with the rest of his life.

(If he fucked a few guys like Five – but never _fully right_ , not even the guy with bony knees at the bottom of his shorts that made Diego feel sick with want at the sight of – to get over it, that’s Diego’s business.)

_vi._

Despite- despite whatever Diego expected, Five keeps coming back. Diego isn’t nice to him and yet at least once a week, there’s a knock on the door and Five standing on the other side of it. Letting Diego mark him up all over again, adding new bruises and teeth marks on top of ones starting to fade.

It’s not a regularly scheduled thing. Sometimes Five appears on a Wednesday, other weeks he’s at the door on a Friday, a Monday, and once early on a Sunday morning which inspires Diego to make a joke about him skipping church service to be there. It’s a good line even if their family never once graced the entrance of a church.

Tonight, it’s dark out by the time Five arrives and darker again by the time they’re done. He’s shaking on Diego’s bare mattress – he turned up in the middle of Diego changing the sheets – as Diego runs a clean cloth underneath the tap, warm water sloshing over the material and his fingers. He all out keens when Diego touches the cloth to his thigh, cleaning up the stick residue of lube and come. “God,” he breathes out, rolling over.

He looks good stretched out like that. Diego has no doubt Five is aware of this fact.

“How-”

Their eyes meet and Five stops speaking. But now Diego is intrigued, wanting to know where Five was going with that. He presses, “What?” as he swipes the cloth as far as Five’s knee. Right underneath, the spot ticklish, making Five jolt.

His half-laugh comes out alongside, “Do you even like me?”

“This ain’t about that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Does it matter?” Diego queries. He stands up, stretching his back on the way back to the sink. His shoulder clicks. When he looks back at the bed Five is sitting up. He’s staring, waiting for an answer. It puts Diego on edge. He moves from Five’s eyes to the bite mark on his collar – it’s high enough that even with every button closed, tie on, someone will still see it. “Don’t worry about it. We both know that’s not what we’re here for.”

The mattress creaks under Five as he moves. “Right,” he snaps, the T clipped. Sharp. He throws on his suit pants without bothering with his underwear. “I better get going then.”

“Got another date with Delores?” It’s unfair but Diego’s said it now. It earns him a scowl from Five as he’s buttoning up his shirt. It was Five’s excuse to leave last time -- “Gotta see Delores,” he’d told Diego as he threw his coat on, shoes in hand and heading for the door – and clearly it’s enough of a low blow to upset him.

“I actually have no more plans for the evening,” he replies. He stuffs his bare feet into his shoes, socks already bunched in his pants pocket, bulging it unattractively against his hip. “But since we’re done here I won’t stick around.”

The door slams. Diego stares at it for longer than he wants to.

+

At the red light Al turns up the radio in the truck. “That’s your dad, ain’t it?” he chimes with a nudge to Diego’s side. Diego looks at the radio as if that will help him listen better. But Dad’s voice is gone.

The radio announcer explains, “Referencing the recent leak of private documents from within Hargreeves Inc., Reginald Hargreeves went on to state that ‘all avenues to find the culprit are being explored currently’ and that as this is an internal matter ‘Hargreeves Inc. would appreciate the press to remain out of the situation to avoid a trial by press for whomever the culprit is found out to be’.”

Diego flicks the radio off once they move onto the next news story.

“Ouch, that’s gotta suck for the family,” Al says. “The inheritance might be dwindlin’ down the drain as we speak. Who knows what else the leakers have access to.”

Whatever else they have access to isn’t Diego’s problem. He doesn’t work for Dad, he doesn’t even hold any stocks in the company. And as for his inheritance? _Yeah._ That disappeared when he left – he didn’t see it happen but he has imagined Dad taking a large quill and striking his name from the an absurdly sized piece of parchment more than once. (Do they make wills on those things anymore? Fuck if Diego knows.)

Al senses the shift in Diego without looking at him. Changing the subject, he carefully asks Diego, “Hey, will you pull up the address on your phone again? I feel we’re getting close and I’ve gotta concentrating on traffic lights.”

+

Dinner is on, the pan snapping oil into the air around it, when his phone starts ringing on the table. Diego doesn’t recognise the number but that’s nothing new – when you’ve got your number emblazoned on the side of a van, often people you don’t know are going to dial it.

He answers with a cautious, “Hello?” (It could be Five. Does he want it to be Five? He hasn’t thought that far ahead yet.)

Luther’s voice answers on the other end, tiny through the shitty speaker next to Diego’s ear. “Diego, hey. Vanya-”

“Had my number, yeah.” He knows she means well, but c’mon Vanya. Five is one thing but _Luther?_ Whatever, he’s picked up now, might as well see what his brother wants. “What’s up?”

“It’s about Dad,” Luther’s voice tells him. 

Diego sighs. He had figured as much but knowing it and hearing it are two different beasts. With a shake of his head that Luther can’t see, Diego says, “Yeah, alright. I heard his statement on the radio at work today. Don’t worry, it wasn’t me.”

Luther laughs. That jars Diego even more – more than the phone call outta the blue, more than Luther’s voice saying his name when he first answered; Luther laughs and Diego can’t work out where to put it. “C’mon, man, of course I know it wasn’t you.” A pause where Diego lets the statement rest, no need to agitate something well-meant. “It’s something else.”

Another pause.

Luther before, back when they were kids, was a lot. Too much at times, getting his stupid neediness and the petty way he always knew _more than them_ all over the other six. It’s still the same now, obviously, this want to please Dad as much as he does. How he knows things Diego doesn’t. But he’s subtle with it, almost as if he wants Diego to work for the information. Diego doesn’t have time for this, his pan is going to set off the smoke alarm soon. “Luther, c’mon, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner.”

“Right, yeah.” 

(Two positives making a negative.)

“The company is in trouble,” Luther says. “Like. _Trouble._ ”

They don’t stay on the call much longer. As Diego said, he had been in the middle of something he needs to get back to. Plus, Luther doesn’t take his ‘so what?’ so well. Whatever, company’s in trouble – was Diego ever gonna need to worry about that?

He signs off with a ‘thanks for letting me know’ he doesn’t mean and roots out the garlic salt once his phone screen has gone black.

_vii._

“Take it,” Five had said. He’d just turned down Diego’s offer of staying for dinner and in apology? Yeah, something like that, he’d given Diego his business card, phone number, first name and all. “Call me later and we’ll get dinner another night. Or text.”

Which led Diego to here, in the lobby of the main offices for Hargreeves Inc., with Vietnamese takeout cradled in a brown paper bag in his arms. He holds it to himself like a shield, waiting for the elevator to get here – Five’s on the fifteenth floor so _like Hell_ Diego is taking the stairs. (The food would get cold anyway.) A few people pile out passed him after the doors open but it’s late enough in the evening that most have already gone home for the day.

He’s not expecting Grace to be there, sitting in the plush armchair facing Five’s desk when he arrives. Diego tries to give them space, allowing them to finish their conversation, but something in the bag is leaking burning hot into his chest so he ends up disturbing them, knocking before shouldering his way through the glass door. “Hi Mom,” he greets, placing the bag down.

She’s beaming with a smile. “Diego.” Five is already out of his seat, sliding passed Diego to investigate the contents of what he brought. To Five, she directs, “You never mentioned you were having dinner with Diego,” scolding but soft, admonishing, “I wouldn’t have wittered on for as long as I did if I’d known.”

Five replies, “You weren’t wittering.”

As Diego says, “There’s more than enough if you wanna join us.”

Grace smiles at them both. Picking up her coat from her lap, she shakes her head. The mood in the room doesn’t change as she makes her goodbyes because Grace doesn’t allow it to. Diego finds himself smiling, nodding along when she tells him, “Next time you two are having dinner, let me know. I’ll even spring for a sit-down meal instead of paper boxes for you.”

“Alright, Mom, I will.”

(He means it.)

She gives them one final wave from the other side of the glass doors and heads on. Five has started eating without him, licking sauce off his thumb obnoxiously as Diego turns around. “What?” he asks, touching his fingers to his mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

Diego shakes his head. “No. Just surprised to see Mom here.”

“I didn’t know she was coming when I asked if you wanted to eat with me.”

It’s Five’s office, his space. Diego shouldn’t be in it, be here, but Five asked him over, even sent him the Google Maps address and everything. (Like Diego doesn’t know where Dad’s office building is.) Five asked so Diego came. Simple. But still, being in the space Diego feels awkward. Five leans in him and Diego prepares himself for a kick.

Instead-

Five wraps his arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry about Mom, I really didn’t know.”

Without needing to think about it, Diego’s hands find the dip of his waist. He knows Five’s surprised by the move, feels it in the tension of his back but that loosens after another second. “Been a long day,” Diego offers, and Five takes it.

+

It’s difficult to say who started it. Diego had been eating when Five had leaned in and bitten his neck, but Diego had been also been the one to press his hips into the curve of Five’s butt as he’d been trying to eat a couple seconds before, thus giving Five access to his neck right before he bit it.

Anyway it is cut, the result is the same.

Diego currently kneels between Five’s spread legs, one of Five’s hands twisted in Diego’s hair, sharp nails dragging against his scalp, while Five’s other hand is shoved knuckle first into his own mouth, trying to keep any noise he may make trapped as Diego eats him out, getting his hole sloppy with so much saliva there’s a wet patch on the desk when Diego’s chin touches it.

Diego pulls back to look at his handiwork, teasing with the pads of two fingers, and conscious of the hot whimper Five makes in return, humping forward so his dick pats Diego’s cheek wetly.

Around his knuckles, he just about manages to get out, “Diego?” voice rasping in his throat. He pets weakly at the back of Diego’s head, then dips his hand lower, tugging Diego’s collar. Diego slips two fingers into him, crooking them almost harshly, making Five’s fingers twitch out of their grip briefly.

Diego looks up at Five. He’s a mess and so fucking beautiful. His fingers pull on his collar more insistently than before. Without removing his fingers, Diego lets Five pull him up, fucking him slowly as he rises. Five makes a wounded noise, raw and pushed out from his belly as he drops his hand from his mouth. His hands are everywhere – reaching for Diego’s zipper, still on his collar, on his face. Diego lets himself get manhandled while his pants drop to the carpet.

Five kisses him.

(It’s the first time Five has kissed him thirteen years. He feels his face go pink at the thought.)

Diego removes his fingers on one breath and pushes into Five before he takes the next.

Pulling away from his face, Five takes Diego’s hand in his. Diego finds the teeth marks on his skin and runs his thumb over the ridges of them. Five smiles, easy, then leans in to kiss him again. Diego tangles their hands together properly as he starts to fuck him just the way he knows Five’s likes.

Five’s breath hitches, cutting off the sound he was making.

“What?” Diego asks, chasing after his mouth with his own. Five keeps tilting back, clearly trying to hide. He avoids Diego’s mouth and keeps his lips tightly shut. Diego prompts, “ _What?_ ”

“’was being loud,” Five supplies, Diego using the opportunity to suck his bottom lip in, nipping. He feels how Five’s breath shakes. “Might be people around.”

It’s late. There isn’t. And they’re fifteen storeys up – there’s zero chance anyone outside the building could hear them here, even with the window open. But, in a low voice, letting his stubble scuff the cut of Five’s jawline, he says, “Let them hear.”

Five kisses him again with a whimper.

+

Diego offers Five a tee to sleep in, which he accepts, and boxers, which he declines. 

He watches Five move around his place as he readies himself for bed. He brushes his teeth, with a toothbrush Diego never clocked in the blue plastic cup by Diego’s sink; he folds his clothes and puts them on the side of Diego’s couch he always does when he has need to be out of them in Diego’s place; he even brushes his hair with a hairbrush Diego noticed in his bedside drawer but didn’t think too much about when he saw it.

And somehow he doesn’t have any stuff here to sleep in.

(Because Diego never invited him to before.)

How did Diego miss it? How didn’t he notice Five slowly moving little things in? Jesus. (What else has he missed?)

Five swaps the top pillows for one another before he lies down. Diego traded them around dawn this morning when it annoyed his neck. Somehow Five knew. Diego- Diego needs a minute. Grabbing a towel from the cupboard, he makes the excuse of showering and leaves the room.

At least Five is nice enough to let him shower before he comes looking for him, Diego’s pants back on and everything. He wipes his hand across the steamed up mirror front and there he is, Five. Standing behind him. “So,” he begins. He folds his arms across his chest. “Am I in Eudora’s t-shirt or-”

“It’s mine.”

Five waits. Diego sighs. “Eudora’s not my girlfriend,” he admits. “She was. But she hasn’t been for a while. A long while, in fact.” Motioning to Five, he adds, “If she were, I wouldn’t be doing this. With you.”

Five softens at the answer. Difficult when he’s already soft, ridiculously so for someone Diego associates with being so rigid in every way. (So like Dad.) Diego has to close his eyes against the view in the mirror. But Five’s hand touches his shoulder, refusing to let him get away from him, pretend he’s not here. “C’mere,” he urges, but doesn’t push further when Diego shakes his head, refusing to move.

“Diego.” The word feels weighted. It’s only Diego’s name but it weighs, pushed into Diego by the fingers resting on his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And ain’t that the truth. Five is- _Fucking goddammit._ Five keeps turning up, coming around, putting little bits of him in Diego’s space, his number on his phone, and Diego has only realised it now. But; “Where were you then?”

Five steps closer, skating his fingers down Diego’s side to wrap his arm around his waist. Diego still hates that he’s taller than him but right now he lets himself be held, babbling out, “I left and you. You never came.” A sound hiccups out of his mouth, breath jerking his chest. “He made me choose – both of us or just me. And he didn’t want me. So I left.”

He keeps saying, “He didn’t want me. He didn’t want me, he didn’t want me.”

“Diego,” Five repeats, pulling Diego closer to him. Diego stumbles back, only now noticing his entire body is shaking.

“Why didn’t he want me?” he asks. (Even before Dad found out about them, caught Diego sneaking out of Five’s room one morning at dawn and placed the ultimatum before him, Diego knows down to his bones Reginald Hargreeves never wanted him.) Five kisses the spot beneath his ear.

“I wanted you.” He says it, and he says it again, and once more, then emphasises, “ _I_ wanted _you._ ” Diego feels himself lose his breath and an aching, raw noise slips from him violently. Five’s grip tightens, squeezing. But Diego can’t tell him to let go as he shakes, desperately needing Five to keep him standing upright. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Diego’s breathing fails to even itself out.

+

“If I’d turned up, thirteen years ago, you would have sent me straight home.” They both know he’s right. Even as embarrassment warms Diego’s chest so much he has to turn his head away from Five’s next to him on the pillow, he knows Five’s right.

In the dark, Five reaches out blindly for him. His palm holds Diego’s jaw, fingers framing his mouth. He brings Diego’s face back to him, eyes wide and clear. “That doesn’t matter now, ok? I’ve got you now.”

Diego nods, unable to speak with the placement of Five’s fingers. And that’s ok too.

_viii._

Amid the click-clack of cameras, the Five on the TV screen tells the crowd gathered in front of him, “After working with the FBI for a number of months, the culprit of all Hargreeves Inc.’s financial issues over the last few years has come to light.”

The news story cuts away from Five’s and throws up a still of Dad being led away in cuffs. Over it, Five’s voice continues but the blood rushing in Diego’s ears drowns him out.

Al’s punch to his upper arm jolts him, wobbling Diego on his feet, unprepared for the impact. Diego throws back a scowl at the inconvenience. “What?” Al queries, accent strong, “I’m just excited your inheritance is safe. Good for your brother.”

Diego has no response, barely managing a nod. Al pats his arm.

+

In his back pocket, Diego’s phone rings. He answers it, out of breath from a few rounds with the punching bag to process everything. On the other end, Five asks, “Did you see the news today?”


End file.
